Ever After and Beyond
by TheGiver
Summary: When one story ends, another one simply begins. After terrible giants, unfaithful princes, and magic beans, another, more amazing story begins to take place...[Into the Woods]
1. Prologue, Part One

**Ever After and Beyond  
Prologue, Part One  
**

**O**nce upon a time, in a far off kingdom, lived a young boy, a beautiful girl and two small children. They knew nothing of one another, and never thought much out of their own lives. Truth be told, they were extremely different. Only one thing connected them: the bonds of fate.

The young boy lived in a well-built cottage on the edge of the forest. Often the boy, whose name was Oleander, asked his father why the cottage had been built so strong. No fierce storms blew in, the earth hadn't trembled for centuries, and they weren't near any warring provinces. His father, a time-worn baker, would merely smile and reply, "Because she would want a strong roof over your head."

Oleander grew up never knowing his mother, but from the fond tone that crept into his father's voice whenever she was spoken of, Oleander surmised that she was very loving. When he was a very young boy, the baker would recount the story of how he came to be born. Oleander had heard the story so many times that he knew it by heart; sometimes he could picture his mother standing beside him, gentle and warm.

The baker had raised Oleander to be a good child. He listened to his father and did what he was told. In all respects, he was a wonderful son. However, fate has a cruel sense of humor, imbuing Oleander with as much skill in the kitchen that a sieve has holding water. Though the baker trained him for many years, Oleander failed in the simplest of tasks, often transforming biscuits and rolls into smoldering piles of ash. The baker rarely grew frustrated with his son, telling him to just keeping trying. And so he would, throwing out the burnt bread and starting over again.

As the years went on, however, Oleander began to grow more curious. He began to pine for actual friendship, not idly chatting with the utensils and batter. The baker told Oleander not to think so much about friendship—though the baker was kind, his heart still ached for his missing wife. He didn't want his son to go through the agony that he had endured, so he prevented Oleander from making any friends—especially female friends.

This only fueled Oleander's curiosity. One day, he decided to bring up the subject again with his father while both worked in the kitchen.

"Father, may I ask you something?" Oleander asked, kneading some dough.

"Certainly!" the baker replied, pausing from his activities.

"Why is it," Oleander spoke meekly, "that you won't let me have any friends?"

"Not this again," the baker rubbed his forehead, leaving a streak of flour across his wrinkled skin. "I have told you already; I have my reasons."

"And yet you won't tell me those reasons!" Oleander caught and held his father's gaze, feeling an intense heat rise up in his chest.

"You wouldn't understand!" the baker took a gentle step towards his son. "You just have to trust me—!"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Oleander cried. "Do you think I am too stupid to understand? I'll have you know, I am extremely competent--!" At that moment, the smell of burning dough wafted past father and son's noses. Suppressing the urge to scream, Oleander went to douse the oven fire and to take the burnt dough away. He took the dough away in a bowl, carrying it to the edge of the woods. He sat down against a tree, breaking off a piece of the singed dough. He tossed it to a bird and watched the small animal gobble it down hungrily.

"Lonely, are you?" came a small voice, more air than sound. Oleander leapt up and turned to face an extremely old and withered woman. Her skin was draped lazily against her bones and wisps of white hair escaped her black hood. Her fingers were gnarled, mottled and pale; she reached the decrepit thing out to Oleander, stroking his cheek. He withdrew, her rotting smile sending shivers down his spine. Her intense blue eyes looked him up and down.

"And who are you?" Oleander demanded. The old woman played with a dark wooden cane, depending on it to stand upright. Her voice came in harsh, heaving gasps.

"Just someone who wants to help out," she replied. "I repeat my question—are you lonely?"

"Of course I am!" Oleander cast a spurning glance at his cottage in the distance. "My father wishes me to live an uneventful life."

"Ooh," the woman cooed, taking a few feeble steps toward Oleander. "I beg of you child, hand me that bowl of dough."

"But it is burnt." Oleander stated.

"It is of no concern to me," she attempted a shrug. "Hand me the bowl." Confused but now extremely curious, Oleander bent down and picked up the bowl, handing it to the old woman. She took it gratefully and turned away.

"What are you going to do with it?" Oleander asked. Faster than Oleander could anticipate, she whirled around and plucked a single black hair from his head. He flinched and leapt backwards. She giggled and dumped the dough on the ground.

"Hush, child, and watch." The old woman placed Oleander's hair on the dough and pointed the cane at the strange confection. Nothing happened for a moment, but after a few seconds, the dough began to change. First it began to stretch and thicken, as if alive. It wriggled around on the ground, beginning to take on a familiar shape. Oleander was amazed at what he saw—he could see two arms now, legs, a nose, a mouth….

Within a minute, the dough had changed into a young girl. She lay naked on the grass, not moving. Her skin was dark, like rich copper. Her hair clung to her skull in tight black curls.

"She is not alive yet," the old woman mused. "I need a drop of your blood to bring her to life." Reluctantly, Oleander bit his finger and squeezed the tiny crimson bead out. It dripped onto the dark forehead, melting into the skin. Instantly, her cheeks began to redden and she took a sudden, gasping breath. Her eyelids fluttered open. She drew herself up and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Now you will not be so lonely," the old woman cackled, handing the girl some clothes, who took them and stared at them blankly. The woman shook her head and helped the girl put the clothes on.

"Why did you do this for me?" Oleander watched the girl walk around awkwardly, picking at her tunic. His heart swelled with joy, however uneasy his stomach felt about the magic used to make her. The old woman did not reply—she had disappeared into the forest.

"So, what should I call you?" Oleander asked the dark-skinned girl, who opened her mouth again, but only managed a strange gurgling sound. Oleander frowned and noticed there was a small hole in the girl's left ear. The bird he had fed earlier, a scrawny robin, flew overhead. Sudden inspiration flowed into Oleander.

"Come on, let's go home," Oleander took the girl by the hand. "Robin."

And so, Oleander and Robin began to walk (and stumble) back to the cottage.


	2. Prologue, Part Two

**Ever After and Beyond  
Prologue, Part Two**

**  
P**eter slicked his hair back and tried his best to pick any dirt from his shirt. Quickly, he brushed his teeth with his index finger and knocked on the large oak door. After a few moments of waiting in the hot desert sun, the door swung inwardly, revealing a tall youth with flowing blonde hair. She bore a smile that faded instantly when she saw who was at the door.

"Hello, Analise." Peter stuttered, wringing his hands nervously.

"Hello, Peter." Analise pursed her lips and leaned against the doorway, folding her arms across her chest. In the bright sunlight, her intense features were only more prominent. She had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, sharp enough to cut cheese. Her eyes were the color of fresh coal, and often blazed as such. Her tawny hair was thick and braided, reaching the small of her back, where it was held by a single red ribbon. The blue silk robe she wore flowed like water on her thin figure, giving her an airy quality.

"I—I brought you these!" Peter handed her a handful of crushed flowers. "They weren't originally like that, I—I think I a-accidentally cr-crushed them on the way."

"Hm." Analise frowned, taking the flowers.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Peter's mouth ran dry as he examined Analise.

"For what?" Analise furrowed her brow, boring a hole into Peter's forehead. "For crushed flowers, or for interrupting my morning meal?"

"B-but they were _very _hard to get!" Peter stammered, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

"And that should be its own reward." With that, Analise slammed the door in Peter's face. Wide-eyed, Peter reached for the door, intending to knock again. He sighed and took his hand away, turning his back on the door. Why did he delude himself into thinking Analise would fall for a commoner? He slinked away, braving the scorching heat of the desert.

A group of street urchins nearby were chatting about the king, animatedly telling tales of great riches in the palace, and of one treasure in particular. The item in question was said to look like an ordinary oil lamp, but it was said to be much more than ordinary.

Curious, Peter stepped closer to the urchins and began to listen to the conversation. A smile played on his lips as he listened, for a plan was beginning to hatch in his ambitious mind…

* * *

**  
P**rincess Analise walked away from the door, rolling her eyes. Sooner or later, she told herself, Peter would realize that he was little more than a peasant, and would stop pining for her. She climbed a large spiral staircase, weaving her way through the large palace. She passed by the kitchen, suddenly without an appetite. Instead, she dropped herself in her room and began to stare out the window. 

She supposed she should be happy with her life—indeed, many were envious of her. Her father, the great King Aladdin, ruled over the entire desert. They lived in a large, sprawling palace, in the center of a thriving city. However, Analise soon grew bored with being a princess. She wanted to see what was beyond the sand dunes and the hot sun, but her father wanted her to take over the kingdom when he died.

Recently, she had reached the marrying age. Though it was a joyous occasion for the king, Analise was less than ecstatic about it. King Aladdin had invited various suitors—princes from faraway lands—to call on Analise. By the end of the day, she was to pick which prince she would marry. While she dwelled on that thought, a light knock came on the door.

"Darling?" a deep, rich voice followed.

"Come in, father," Analise sighed and turned to face the opening door. King Aladdin stepped into the room, a gentle smile wrinkling his aged face. His thick black hair contained a single streak of grey hair, the only sign of his aging. He stood tall and proud, wearing his extravagant silk robes as gracefully as imaginable. His eyes were just as dark as Analise, but his skin was like caramel, whereas his daughter's was like delicate porcelain.

"Oh, Analise," Aladdin mused. "If only you could see how beautiful you look right now…"

"I suppose that is the good news?" Analise scoffed.

"What do you mean?" Aladdin asked, taking a seat on a plush red chair.

"You always deliver good news and bad news at the same time," Analise retorted. "The good news is that I look pretty, and the bad news is…let me guess, the first prince has arrived?"

"I am offended!" Aladdin feigned an indignant expression, but continued to smile. "You think you know me like the back of your own hand!"

"So the princes have _not _arrived yet?"

"No, they have." Aladdin cast a sympathetic glance at Analise, who took a deep breath and turned back to the window. "Analise—Ana."

"Do not call me Ana," Analise sniffed. "That is the name of your daughter, and I am no longer your daughter…soon I will be Queen Analise."

"You will always be my daughter." Aladdin embraced Analise's form and rested his strong chin on her silky hair. "No prince can change that. Now, promise me you will at least _try _to enjoy the company of these princes? They have traveled very far to meet you, you know."

"But I do not _know _any of them," Analise groaned. "Why must I pick someone so quickly? Love does not work that way!"

"It is better not to fall in love." Aladdin let go of his daughter, turning away from her. "When you fall in love, you only get harmed."

"But _you _fell in love with mother!" Analise whirled around, analyzing her father's soft expression.

"Yes, and then she ran off with another prince." Aladdin sighed.

"You never told me that." Analise was surprised to hear that her mother was still alive somewhere. For years, she had believed that she had wandered into the desert one day, in search of her father, and had died.

"I also never told you that I was once a commoner." Aladdin chuckled. "But that is beside the point! Now hurry, you must get ready for the first prince—I am told he is very charming."

And with that, Aladdin slipped out of the room, leaving Analise to throw herself on the bed. She screamed into the thickly stuffed pillows and beat her fists against the fine linen sheets. After throwing them off the bed and tossing her music box across the room, she composed herself and began to dress for the first prince.

* * *

**  
P**eter stood near the back entrance to the Palace, holding his breath. He stole a cautious glance around the corner and saw two meaty guards on either side of the entrance. Cursing silently, he put on his most terrified expression and ran toward the guards, flailing his arms about. 

"Guards!" Peter shouted. "Guards! Guards!"

"What is it, kid?" said the one closest to Peter, placing his hamlike fist against his hip.

"There's an old man getting robbed!" Peter pointed around the corner. Both guards raised their eyebrows, but didn't respond at once. Lazily, they walked over to Peter and glanced around the corner.  
While their backs were turned, Peter grabbed a small spittoon from the ground and raised it over his head. He brought it down with great force on one guard's head.

The guard let out a small groan and fell forward. The second guard spun around so quickly that he slammed his head against the rough brick wall. He fell backwards, dazed. Peter shook his head and ran into the back entrance of the Palace.

He walked on the tips of his toes, trying to be as silent as possible. He avoided the many guards that patrolled the Palace. Normally, he would marvel at the marble floors and the golden walls—on the outside, the Palace looked large, but it was the same sandstone color of the other desert buildings—but he had no time at the moment. After a few minutes of wandering around, he came upon a large brass door. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could see him. When he was confident that he was not being watched, he pushed the brass door open.

It led to a very dark passageway. He took a deep breath and began descending into the shadows, ignoring how cold the air became. The further he went, the darker it got, and soon he had to hold out his hands against the moist walls so he wouldn't loose his footing.

After what seemed like an eternity in darkness, a faint orange light began to take shape in the distance. Excited, Peter quickened his pace. On more than one occasion, he nearly slipped and fell, but he always recovered and hurried to the light. As the glimmer grew in intensity, he began to marvel at how easy this was. He had met almost no opposition in breaking into the Palace!

He finally reached the source of the light—it was a large circular room, lit by bright torches along the ceiling. The entire room was filled to the brim with precious jewels, golden statues, and various treasures that King Aladdin had accrued during his reign. On any other day, Peter would have been overtaken by monstrous greed and would have stuffed all he could into his pockets. However, he only desired one thing in particular.

He took a few wary steps toward it, suddenly wondering if it really _could _be this easy. He reached out a shaking hand and placed a hand on the golden oil lamp. The metal was warm, despite the chilly air around him. A strange tingling sensation went down his spine as he lifted the lamp from a large pile of rubies. He clutched it to his chest, his heart leaping madly into his throat.

The lamp seemed to wink at him in the torchlight, beckoning him to make a movement. Steadying his hand, he wiped away the light coating of dust surrounding the golden oil map, a terrible smile playing on his lips.


	3. Prologue, Part Three

**Ever After and Beyond  
Prologue, Part Three**

**T**he young girl stared with disdain at the meal in front of her. The plate that sat before her held two things: porridge and a spoon. With a sigh, the youth pushed them both away from her. She hid her face in her hands, letting the locks of hair that framed her face fall in front of her—locks so blonde, it looked as if they were made of gold.

"You'll want to eat that before it gets cold," came a gentle voice from behind her. Startled, the girl turned around, nearly falling out of her chair. The tall, red-haired man who had addressed her grinned impishly, taking the sack that hung lazily around his shoulders and throwing it down. Streaks of gray in his hair were a clear indicator of his age. "Good morning, Goldilocks."

"Father!" cried Goldilocks, leaping from her chair and throwing her arms around her father's waist. Her father chuckled heartily and got on his knees so his tiny daughter could hug him more easily.

"You've gotten so big!" he mused, trying to remember how tall she was when he last saw her. "And what's this?" the father asked, fingering the ratty old cloak that was draped around Goldilocks's small frame.

"It's a hood that mother gave me!" Goldilocks stepped away from her father and did a little dance, twirling the cloak about her like a cape.

"Goldy, eat your supper!"

The voice, sharp and unexpected, came from upstairs. Goldilocks and her father shared a knowing look as footsteps _pitter-pattered _down the stairs like a gentle rain.

"It's only porridge—!" the woman shouted as she appeared in the kitchen. Her reaction to the man in the kitchen was only separated from Goldilocks's by age. She shrieked in joy and threw her arms around his neck. "Jack, you're back!"

"Indeed I am, Jill." Jack pulled himself away from his wife. "Only for a little while, though. Soon, I'll have to return to the mill."

"Jack is nimble and Jack is quick, but Jack can't make time for his own family!" Jill pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest. Jack smiled and brushed a few strands of golden hair away from his wife's face.

"You know I love you," Jack leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "_Both_ of you." he added, bending over to do the same to Goldilocks, who giggled and toyed with her cloak.

"How long are you staying?" Jill demanded, forgetting her anger momentarily.

"Not very long. I can stay for supper, but that's it." Jack shrugged helplessly.

"We've already eaten." Jill retorted. Glancing at the table and the uneaten porridge, she concluded: "Well, _I've _already eaten."

"How about a story, then?" Jack suggested. Goldilocks nodded fervently, tugging on her mother's old cloak. "Do you want to hear the one about your mother?"

"Jack—!" Jill warned, but Jack grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

"What?" Goldilocks bounced up and down. "What story?"

"The story of how your mother once went up against a wolf!" Jack beamed, placing a hand on Goldilocks's tiny shoulder. "In fact, the very cloak you are wearing figures heavily into that story." Goldilocks's eyes were wide as she tried to speak.

"Oh, really, Jack!" Jill playfully toyed with Goldilocks's hair. "If you'll remember, we lost _that _cloak a long time ago." Goldilocks's smile waned, and she cast a dejected look at the floor.

"Perhaps old age has made me forgetful," Jack winked at Goldilocks. "However, isn't this the very cloak I brought you from the giants?" Goldilocks snapped her head up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Jack, don't encourage her!" Jill shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. "Goldy, you haven't even finished your supper."

Goldilocks jumped up on her chair, dragged the porridge back in front of her and began to gobble it down madly, much to the exasperation of Jill. Placing her hands on her hips, the frustrated mother scolded Goldilocks.

"You can't just eat like a pig!" she reprimanded, wiping away bits of porridge from her daughter's chin. "You'll give yourself a stomach ache!" Shaking her head, Jill went over to a bucket, peering into it.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, walking up behind her.

"We're out of water again." Jill sighed, hoisting the pail over her shoulder. "I'll have to get some for Goldy. If she eats porridge without water, she sometimes gets a bit of a headache." Jack blinked at this tidbit of information.

"Well, let me help you," Jack offered, opening the door for her.

"Nonsense; the well isn't far away."

"But it takes two to get the water from it."

"Very well," Jill nodded, walking into the night. "Goldy, we'll be back soon. We're off to fetch a pail of water. Stay right where you are, and don't go running off!"

Jack followed Jill and shut the door behind them, saying a goodbye to his daughter. With a mouthful of porridge, she managed something to the effect of "Goo-ba!"

A few minutes passed, and Goldilocks had finished her porridge. Feeling stuffed, she crawled down from her chair and wandered around the house aimlessly. She ran to her mother's room and sat in front of her full-body mirror, idly playing with her long, curly locks. She posed in front of the mirror for a few minutes before running down the hall to her room. She dug a ratty blue ribbon out from under her own bed and returned to the mirror.

Hastily, she tied it into her hair and strutted for the mirror once more. She decided that she looked ugly with the ribbon, untied it, and tossed it in a corner. Trotting downstairs, she climbed into a giant red chair in front of the fire, waiting for her parents to return.

They never did.


End file.
